Between Midnight and Morning Read online

Page 6


  She had to get out of here. She had to get home. She had to think. She had to figure out what was happening to her.

  But most of all, she had to deal with the sinking and sobering sense that she had very nearly committed the ultimate act of betrayal.

  It was barely 9:00 a.m. on Monday and already the temperature had spiked up to the low eighties with a high around ninety-five expected. The county was clearly in the middle of a July heat wave—which was why John decided to make another trip into Sundown. Well, that and a blond veterinarian who had kissed him senseless Saturday night behind the Dusk to Dawn before trying to relieve him of most of his hair.

  “That stretch of fence on the north range ain’t gonna fix itself.”

  John grinned at the disapproval in Clive Johnson’s voice. The only way to know if his grizzled old foreman was upset or good with the world was by his tone and the glint or glare from his rheumy old eyes. Currently, Clive was giving John both the glint and the glare plus a healthy helping of his guilt tone.

  The confirmed bachelor had been John’s father’s foreman on the Bar T since buffalos roamed the foothills. In fact, his thin face looked like a piece of buffalo hide that had been soaked in a stream, wrung tight, then left to bake brown and bone-dry in the sun. John was relatively certain Clive’s face had petrified long ago because in all the years he’d known him, he’d never seen him change his facial expression.

  “Tomorrow, when it’s supposed to be cooler, will be soon enough to tackle that fence,” he told him when the old boy’s evil eye locked on him like a laser beam.

  “’Specially when there’s skirts to chase today,” Clive sputtered.

  “Got that right.” John gave Clive a good-natured clap on the back as he walked by him on the way to his truck. “You ought to try it some time. Mable Clemmons down at the post office asked about you again the other day,” John teased, then laughed out loud when a flush of red lit up the tips of Clive’s ears.

  “Woman’s a busybody and a know-it-all.”

  “Yeah but I hear tell she makes a mean pot roast.”

  “I can get by just fine without that woman’s roast, thank ya very much…just like I can get by without that smart punk mouth a yours, boy.”

  “You live for my smart punk mouth. Gives you something to grumble about.”

  Clive snorted, then on cue, grumbled under his breath.

  Chuckling, John climbed behind the wheel. “Take the day off. And that’s an order. Go on into town. Sling bull with your cronies at the Dusk to Dawn for a while. Tell ’em what a no-count lazy good-for-nothing my daddy raised. It’ll make you feel better.”

  When Clive merely grunted again, John shook his head. He knew Clive didn’t think of him that way but he enjoyed a good argument every bit as much as he enjoyed a sit-down with a beer and his old buddies at Sundown’s one and only restaurant and bar. Trouble was, Clive didn’t see a little R and R every once in a while as a necessity.

  John knew different…especially where Clive was concerned.

  “It’s not a crime to take a little time off now and again. Enjoy it. I know I plan to.”

  Clive was still standing by the machine shed, watching him, when John pulled out on the gravel road.

  “Status quo,” he said under his breath and gunned the motor. He loved that stubborn old coot like he was blood family and he knew the feeling was mutual. Knew also that while he’d never explained to Clive why he sometimes shut himself up or rode off for days without a word, the old boy understood and didn’t pry. John respected that and appreciated the distance Clive gave him. Just like he respected that Clive was one of the old breed. He didn’t know anything but work, didn’t feel comfortable unless he was working. Together, they did work. And they worked hard. But the old wrangler was slowing down and it was much easier to get Clive to ease up if John provided the reason.

  Too hot was a good enough reason in any playbook.

  Yeah, he thought as he barreled into town. Today was too hot to work, too hot to fish, but darn near perfect for paying a call on his favorite vet to see if she was dealing with some of the residual effects of a kiss that had heated him up like the sun beating down on the roof of his truck.

  “Ladies.” John tipped his hat to Peg and Ali as he walked into Ali’s office. He knew from Peg that Ali held small-animal clinic on Monday mornings, so he’d counted on catching her at the office. He’d also picked up that Peg, who kept the books for her father’s elevator and feed business in Sundown, made a habit of meeting Ali for lunch a couple of days a week. He’d kind of been hoping that today wouldn’t have been one of them. Unfortunately, his luck hadn’t held on that count.

  “Hey, J.T.” Peg’s gaze was rampant with speculation as it flitted between him and Ali.

  “Hi,” Ali said, glancing up from her lunch. And looking very, very nervous.

  For a woman who claimed not to be interested, she had the most extreme reactions around him. Of course, he did a little reacting of his own. And right now, it was appreciative silence.

  She’d pulled her hair back into a utilitarian braid that started at the crown of her head and fell in a heavy rope to touch just between her shoulder blades. A stethoscope hung around her neck. She was dressed in working khaki pants and a matching shirt and running shoes. A long look confirmed that she wasn’t wearing a speck of makeup.

  There wasn’t one thing about her that didn’t say business professional—except for the deepening pink flush on her cheeks that told him exactly what he’d wanted to know. She was thinking about the kiss they’d shared Saturday night out back of the Dusk to Dawn.

  He’d never seen anything so sexy in his life. Or so sweet. And when her pained smile wavered somewhere between hesitancy and embarrassment, he knew she’d been thinking about that kiss as much as he had. Which meant she’d been thinking about it a lot.

  “What brings you to town, J.T.?”

  Leave it to Peg to try to force the obvious. She knew darn well why he was here—the reason was sitting there looking expectant and uncomfortable. No matter. He had it covered.

  He dug into his shirt pocket. “Mom came through. She e-mailed these yesterday so I printed them for you. Thought you’d want them right away.”

  He tossed the packet of paper on the counter. As he’d hoped, the wariness left her eyes to be replaced by anticipation.

  She rose, dusting her fingers on her pants and unfolded the pages.

  “Oh, these are wonderful!” Eyes wide with excitement, she thumbed through the prints he’d made of the photographs of her house in its prime many years ago. “Peg—look. They’re of my house. Oh, my gosh, look at this one. The hummingbird window is intact. I can have the replacement glass work done now to match it.”

  Peg, all narrowed eyes and curious look, rose, too, and peered over Ali’s shoulder. “That’s awfully thoughtful of you, J.T.,” she said, her smile beaming. “So what’s in it for you?”

  Ali’s head came up. Her blue eyes met his—a little wild, a lot self-conscious. Her blush returned, so pretty he couldn’t help but smile.

  “Cookies,” he said, holding her gaze until the corners of her mouth finally tipped up in response. “I believe there’s a promise on the table involving cookies.”

  “So there is,” Ali said softly. “I’ll get right on that.”

  “See you around, ladies,” he said, liking the playful light that had entered her eyes. If Peg hadn’t been there, he might have insisted on a retainer toward Ali’s promise. Not cookies, but something just as sweet.

  Instead, he touched his fingers to his hat, cut a quick goodbye look at Peg and walked out the door.

  Ali studied the recipe, reviewing the list of ingredients. Flour, sugar, soda, salt, eggs, butter, oatmeal, raisins and nuts.

  “Okay. That ought to do it,” she said to herself and pulled out her big mixing bowl and mixer. “The man wants cookies. He’s going to get cookies.”

  And it didn’t mean one darn thing, she assured herself, measuri
ng out the flour. He’d done a nice thing for her and she was merely paying him back.

  With cookies.

  When she caught herself smiling, she rolled her eyes, sobered up and tended to business. She’d promised him cookies and she was going to deliver so he’d know she was a woman of her word. And so he wouldn’t have a reason to drop by unannounced and remind her that she owed him.

  Or to kiss her. Like he’d kissed her Saturday night.

  She let out a deep breath.

  And really, really wished she understood what was happening to her.

  But she didn’t—at least she didn’t want to admit she did—so she baked cookies.

  Baking gave her something to do tonight. It was Saturday night. The night she and David used to set aside as their special date night. Even after the deepest cut of grief had healed, she still had trouble with Saturday nights.

  Her fix had always been to treat it as any other night. She’d cocoon herself in a numbing little shell where the loss didn’t affect her. And sometimes, it actually worked.

  Tonight, however, wasn’t one of those nights. Tonight was a night that if she started drinking wine, she’d have a hard time stopping. Tonight, the loneliness was crushing…maybe more so because John had made it clear she no longer needed to spend her nights alone.

  It was not an option.

  So, she baked instead. She baked to pass the time and to forget what she missed, to block the emptiness that always hovered at the edge of her existence and would overtake her if she let it.

  She’d just taken the last batch of cookies out of the oven when she heard a knock on her front door. She glanced at the clock. It was almost 8:00 pm. She wasn’t expecting anyone. And when she realized she was actually hoping it might be John, she muttered in self-disgust and headed toward the door.

  Wiping her hands on a dish towel, she walked through the dining room—which actually looked pretty good, she decided, admiring the results of her hard work—and opened the front door.

  And there he stood. In all his heartthrob glory—tight-fitting jeans, black chest-hugging t-shirt and matching Resistol. His boots looked new. His smile was vintage flirt and, of course, he looked incredible.

  “Hey, Doc. Thought you might be hungry.”

  Her shoulders sagged—even as her heart lifted like she was actually glad to see him.

  Lord, give me strength.

  The smell wafting out of the Dusk to Dawn carry-out sack made her stomach growl. She hadn’t bothered with dinner. Hadn’t had much of an appetite, as a matter of fact, until he’d shown up.

  “So…are you? Hungry?” he added with an inviting grin.

  She hung onto the side of the door. “You are the most persistent man.”

  “It’s as endearing as hell, huh?”

  What else could she do but smile. “Endearing is not exactly the word I would have chosen but we won’t go there.” She notched her chin toward the sack. “What’s in the bag?”

  “Burgers and fries. Best in the county.”

  “Do you know how much fat is in that stuff?” She was grasping at straws.

  “Enough to clog the arteries of a small army.” He waggled the bag under her nose. “Come on. Live dangerously.”

  Oh, she was. She definitely was.

  She drew in a deep whiff. Suppressed a moan of pleasure.

  “You want it bad, don’t you?”

  “Oh, yeah,” she confessed. “I do. You’d just as well come on in. As long as you’re here, you can take your cookies home with you.”

  “You baked me cookies?” He sounded genuinely surprised and pleased.

  “I said I would.”

  “Actually, you said you’d show me your cookies.”

  The man truly was incorrigible. “So I did.”

  She led him into the kitchen, pointed to the counter where she’d spread the cookies out to cool. “Take a good look because these are the only cookies of mine you’re ever going to see.”

  He chuckled. “Is this conversation getting silly or what?”

  “Or what,” she agreed. “It’s been a long day.”

  “And you’re obviously food-deprived. Sit. I’ll set the table. They smell great, by the way.” He nodded toward the cookies and somehow managed to lean in close and sniff her neck. “So do you. Like vanilla.”

  She hoped she hadn’t jumped as she moved toward a chair and sat down. She must have, though, because he was sporting a smug grin as he opened the bag and set a tissue-wrapped burger, a container of fries and a takeout cup full of soda in front of her.

  “Dinner is served.”

  Dinner. Well. He’d done it again, hadn’t he? He’d managed to maneuver her into eating with him. At this point, she was too hungry to point out that she was on to his tactics. Big whoop. Being on to him was a far cry from knowing how to handle him—especially since she thought about that kiss at the darnedest times. Like when she was in the shower or brushing her teeth or…okay, almost always.

  And the other thing—the thing that really knocked the pins out from under her—she really was happy to see him.

  He made her feel something other than empty.

  What was she going to do about this man?

  Ali knew it was dangerous to get so comfortable with him, but by the end of the evening, she was. And she no longer had it in her to fight the feeling. He had a talent for making her smile and laugh and forget why she should be resisting him.

  They’d polished off their burgers and fries and she’d packed up his cookies—after he’d eaten half a dozen, all the while telling her he deserved another batch minimum for bringing her dinner tonight.

  She hadn’t bought the argument, but she’d had fun bantering back and forth with him until somehow, it had gotten to be ten o’clock. He’d made noises about leaving but while they’d made it as far as her front porch, he hadn’t made any moves toward his truck.

  The porch swing had been too inviting. He sat on one end, she on the other, pleasantly full and a little too relaxed to keep her guard up. Of course, it helped that he talked about silly things like stories of life on the ranch with his old bachelor foreman, Clive Johnson.

  Ali had met Clive the first time she’d made a ranch visit.

  “I don’t think he approved of me as a vet.”

  “Clive doesn’t approve of much of anything,” he said with a lazy smile. “So don’t let it bother you.”

  The affection in his tone undercut any censure. “You care a lot about him, don’t you?”

  “Yeah. He’s an ornery old coot, but he’s my ornery old coot and I can’t imagine life without his grumbling.”

  The chain holding the swing from the porch ceiling creaked softly as they rocked back and forth in a lazy rhythm.

  “I could fix that for you,” he said looking up and inspecting the chain.

  “The squeak? No. It’s fine. I like it. It’s…comfortable.”

  For a few moments more they simply sat there, the chain creaking, soft music drifting through the open windows from the CD player she’d turned on midway through their burgers and fries. And she felt content.

  “Who is that?” John asked, cocking an ear toward the screen door. “I don’t think I’ve heard her before.”

  Ali’s favorite CD had just made the rotation on her CD changer. “Norah Jones.”

  “Silk,” he said after listening for a while longer. “Yeah…like water flowing over silk. I like it.”

  Ali nodded into the dark, taken by his comment. “Good analogy. She’s very smooth.”

  “And this particular song is perfect to dance to.”

  She turned and searched his face. Shook her head when she read his intentions.

  “Oh, no. You’ve seen me dance. If I remember right, you took a lot of pleasure in insulting me about how terrible I am,” she reminded him with a lift of a brow.

  “Not terrible. Just—okay. I can’t lie. You are terrible.” He smiled to take the sting out of his teasing. “Now’s a great time to fix
that.”

  “Many have tried.”

  “I haven’t.” He rose and drew her to her feet with him.

  She was still shaking her head when he pulled her into his arms.

  “Quiet. Just listen. That’s it. Listen to the music. Feel the beat. And relax, Doc. Just relax.”

  Right. That was going to happen. She was dancing in the dark, wrapped in the arms of approximately two hundred pounds of hard, hot cowboy who made no bones about the fact that he wanted to do a lot more than dance with her. And see her cookies.

  “Close your eyes,” he murmured, lowering his head until his lips hovered a breath away from her ear. “And just sway with me. We’ll worry about the footwork later. For now, just let out that breath you’re holding and go with the flow.”

  Flow. Oh, yes. She had a lot of flowing going on if the slip-slide of her blood thrumming through her veins was any indication. Every pressure point where her body nudged up against his let her know about flow. His breath, where it feathered across her temple like a caress, set all of her juices flowing.

  The front of her thighs brushed against the front of his, all hard, long muscle and tensile strength. The tips of her breasts grazed his chest and tightened into sensitive little pressure points. And his hands…Lord, his hands had folded together at the small of her back, exerting the slightest, yet most intense pressure she’d ever known.

  Flow. The only thing that didn’t seem to be surging through her at the moment was cognizant thought. And at the moment, she couldn’t quite make herself care.

  The music was soft and low. The man was hard and lean. And the incredible, enveloping sensation of being held and touched and gently nudged to move with the heady, sensual rhythm of the music not only comforted, it consumed.

  He held her loosely yet so intimately she was aware of everything different and everything the same about them. He was tall, she was small. He was hard, she was soft. But through their veins, rivers of lifeblood flowed, powering their hearts, fueling their muscles, pulsing in places that made awareness of each other mandatory and denial a pretty tough feat.

  The scent of the night—honeysuckle and sage—melded with the scent of his skin which she’d come to recognize as a tantalizing mix of musk and leather and something unique to only him.